Lifestyles of the Rich & the Heinous

So, it's Friday today, and like sands through the hourglass, the week has finally come to a close(camera - cut to John Black's furrowed brow). I suppose it's no different than any other Friday except for the fact that I'm pantless instead of topless (they changed it to "Topless Fridays"), and I'm feeling raaahhh-thahh witty and charming. So charming, in fact, that I felt compelled to write another one of my little posts. Don't I sound so very motherly? "It's one of her little posts, she'll grow out of it soon enough." As I sit down to write today, I do so with a naked mind (and ass), not knowing what I'm going to write (or contract) about except for the mundane activities of my day, which include, in no particular order: Woke up at 7:01, ate a bag of dry cheerios for breakfast...found a hair-ewww!, read the 'opinion' section of the New York Times, called my mom to find out what an 'opinion' section was, put on a bangin' work outfit, flicked off a fat guy in a BMW on the way to work, purposefully swerved so that the BMW guy collides face first with an oncoming 18-wheeler, gleefully left the scene as I chanted "Death to fatties! Death to fatties!", went to Subway for lunch and lost my appetite after seeing the facial hair on my female "Sandwich Artist", ate my Ham & Turkey Sandwich anyway. Okay, so that's done. Now I will give you a sneak preview of the new Rap Song I wrote during our 8:00 meeting this morning, "Got a skank in a headlock"..... Okay, okay, I'm just kidding. I don't have a rap song, I'm just running out of things to talk about, plus, my illustrious rap career ended years ago (R.I.P. Jigga-Woman). Let's see what else. Oh! Why don't I tell you all about my split personality- devil worshipper and former Miss Nebraska 83' winner, Sandra DiAntonio? (Holla back Sandy!) Oh nevermind, she just told me she insists on leading a private life and it just wouldn't be fair if I blabbed all of her secrets. You know what else isn't fair? People with money. As I check the sad state of affairs that is my online BB&T Checking account, I can't help but think that when it comes to money, I have somehow been cursed, shafted, dissed n' dismissed, given the ole' boot, slipped the rubber banana, slapped in the face, called a whore and kicked out of bed, dropkicked, sent to sleep with the chickens, well, you get my drift.... But SERIOUSLY, why not me? Why not any of us? The worst part is that it is rubbed in my, excuse me, our faces on a daily basis (assuming you're all poor like me, if not, hook a bitch up!). I live in a city where rich kids come to waste away their trust funds doing nothing with their lives. With the exception of my heart and soul, Cleveland, isn't that true to every city? Rich kids blowin' big bucks? And to put the cherry on the rich ass sundae, there is also a lot of old money here, ready and waiting for someone to kick the bucket so that the next generation can cash in. And the next generation wants to make sure that you know it.

Shop girl. No, she's not the utterly delightful Claire Danes character from the movie of the same name that you want to buy some pretty gloves and send out on a date with your grandpa. Think more along the lines of the bitchy store owners in Pretty Woman - "I don't think it would fit you" - but a lot less vocal. No, she never says anything rude, but you can see it in her eyes. She's watching and judging. She's wondering if that top you're wearing was $12.99, $15.99, or $24.99 at TJ Maxx. She's looking at your shoes and wondering why you're wearing Target Mossimo's instead of a pair of this season's Christian Louboutins. She's looking in horror at the string hanging from your skirt as if it were a used tampon dangling from your body. She's wondering if you can really afford anything in her store or if you are just coming to look and dream (you pathetic street rat whore, you). She dares to cower in disgust as you try to buy a Marc Jacobs top with Monopoly money. Her daddy probably runs his own investment firm or something else that rich people do (What do they do?). She probably has a scratchy voice and lives in a great loft apartment in the "cool" section of downtown, and dates a banker named Hampton with a tan, a black lab and a sailboat. These things I don't know for sure. She might run a homeless shelter, or play Skip-Bo with the old folks at the senior center, or rescue puppies on the weekend, but it's a safe bet that she doesn't have to work very hard to make it in this cruel world. And therefore, she is someone I hate. End of story.

But maybe it's not the end of the story. The more I write, the more I sound like what I think she is: Judgemental. She's not the one who cares about my TJ Maxx Shirt, lack of Christian Louboutin pumps, and tampon string. I am. And even worse, I come to the stark realization of what I truly am: A nasty jealous bitch. I'm so extremely jealous of shop girl because she's living the life I want to live. She's probably sweet as friggin' pie, but I'm jealous because I want the clothes and the job. I want the loft and the guy with the sailboat. And the black lab. Sparky, I think his name is. Yes, Sparky. I want all of that. Then again, the more I think about it, maybe I don't? Maybe Sparky bites small children, severely injuring one, resulting in a lawsuit banning all dogs named Sparky from existence. Maybe Hampton has a drug problem, a girlfriend on the side, weekend romps with male prostitutes and an incurable STD.......Or maybe he's perfect? Either way, the lesson that I just taught myself is that what I have is what I'm meant to have, and so for shop girl. And who knows? Maybe she's more like me than I think. Maybe she struggles to pay her power bill each month too. Maybe she can't afford to get that hair cut she wants every 6-8 weeks. Maybe she doesn't get weekly mani/pedis and drink martinis. Maybe she gives out sexual favors in order to make an extra dollar every once in a while too. Maybe, just maybe, out there in the real world, we could be friends....

Later that night: You're out at the bar. It's late night and the ladies bathroom is crowded, elbow to elbow. You're squeezing your way through in an attempt to snag a rock-star spot in front of the mirror. As you wash your hands, you look over and there she is, shop girl. She's fabulously dressed and amazingly wasted, attempting to apply her lip gloss, but to no avail. You smile and just as you're about to say "Don't you work at...?" she looks at you and says "What the hell are you, hiccup, staring at?"

Sic em' Sparky, Sic em!!!!!


I often ask myself the age-old question, where is all the money and why don't I have any? What did I do to deserve the life of a poor begger girl selling flowers on the cold, wet streets of London in the early 1900's? "Oh wouldn't it, be loverly!" Here's what I would do if I had all the money in the world.


- Find the "Death to Fatties!" guy and buy him gastric bypass surgery. Then yell "Death to Skinnies!" (Muah-ha-ha! It never ends!)

- Change my name to Princess Spectacular

- Hire a personal maid and change her name to "The God Damn Help"

- Open my own chocolate factory. Instead of Oompah-Loompahs, I'd have a bunch of black midget men called the Humpty-Humps (I would demand that they all hump each other)

- Buy a yacht and cruise around Myrtle Beach

- Hire a barbershop quartet to follow me everywhere I go and sing the song "hello my honey, hello my sweetie, hello my ragtime gal!" as I dance the Charleston

- Resurrect my rap career as Jigga-Woman with a comback album: "30 Seconds to Nasty"

- Buy pretty jewelry and MAC lipstick for all of the sick and starving children around the world

- Hire Ty Pennington to wake me up every morning: "GOOOOOOD MORNING ROBERTSON FAMILY!!!!!!"

- Start my own breakfast-all-day restaurant chain - Pancakes. Same idea as Hooters but served by hot flatties. Eat your hearts out, double d's of the world!

- Amputate one of Lindsay Lohan's legs and make her my "stump" double.

- Buy out ABC and produce a Grey's Anatomy spinoff, Gay's Anatomy - "Dr. McWeenie, I'll need that butt plug, stat!"

- After Gay's Anatomy becomes an instant success, change Dancing With The Stars to just Dancing With The Star

- Hire David Lee Roth to host the ABC Nightly News - "The president met with the Prime Minister of France today to negotiate foreign policy...Bibbedy-BOP!"

- Make myself the spokeswoman for JIF peanut butter...change the sloogan to "Floozy whores choose JIF!"

- When I die, request to have my ashes spread on a peanut butter & jelly sandwich.

- Pay off legislators to pass a law for the legalization of my new Meth/Alcohol hybrid, Meth Light.

- Start multiple national ad campaigns promoting teen abstinence, safe sex, and Meth Light.

- My first order of business as President of the United States: Bedazzle the White House.

- (singing like JT) I'm Bringing Members-Only Ba-ack....Yeah!

- Work with the National Weather Service to create Skittle rain showers like they do in the commercials.

- Start my own homeless shelter then kick everyone out and yell "Suckaz!"

- Pay off a henchman to murder the kids that made fun of me in high school: Who you callin' stinky-crotch now?

- Destroy all the cubicles on the face of the earth. (shaking my clenched fist at the heavens) "Never again Cubicle Gods, Never again!"

- Wear a ghetto hair weave. Why? Because I'm rich nigga!

- Pay off the black people that try to kick my ass for saying "Because I'm rich nigga!"